


Layers of Me

by i_am_zan



Series: 49 Days [6]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Introspection, yet more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_zan/pseuds/i_am_zan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world may see Lavi, Bookman may see an apprentice, but Junior isn't finished yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Layers of Me

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned Stanley Kunitz's poem "The Layers" in an earlier piece, this time I thought I'd work with it a little.

_“I have walked through many lives,  
some of them my own,”_

Here in the room that he shares with Bookman, he lies on his bed and puts his hand over the eye that the world can see. Within this induced darkness he meditates. 

A solemn voice questions, “Who are you?” In the quiet of his mind he replies with equal solemnity, _The One who will succeed the Bookman._ “Who is the Bookman?” _The Bookman is a spectator to history and it’s chronicler. He records the secret history of the world and passes it on to future generations._

For such is the role of Bookmen, they endeavour to travel to every quarter, never to linger in one place, to imprint history in their minds and record what they witness. 

“What must a Bookman be like?” _He must not become attached or be controlled by emotion. He speaks with everyone, then leaves as if nothing has happened_ Feelings are unnecessary to those who record the secret histories. They chronicle events as they are. Bookmen have no need of a heart.

“I will ask - Who are you?” _I am the Bookman’s successor. I take on a new name I go somewhere new and discard it each time I leave._ These lines of query and reply are a part of his everyday routine and have been since that first night with Bookman. Only now, so ingrained, it is become part of him, inherent within him that he does not need Bookman to be physically present anymore. Like cleaning his teeth, something he does everyday without thinking, like breathing. 

For a decade, he has never questioned their maxim. He understands it even. The secret histories cannot be compared to conventional historical text, that might be biased towards where you lived, the colonies or an independent entity, or something like Herodotus ‘Histories’. A more Bookman-like historian could possibly be Thucydides - and his Peloponnesian Wars although pedagogy on how to transcribe those histories have long since changed and especially within the Bookmen. Their traditions follow strict codes and an almost monasterial way of life albeit with more wandering. The secret histories span in time from Rome’s Emperor Justinian - _Historica Arcana_ in AD 542 which appear alongside the ‘official’ texts, to those of the Mongols which appear hidden from ‘official’ Chinese versions in 1227. 

Parsing ‘dead’ languages is a challenge Junior revels in, connecting one event to another seemingly unconnected ones; years, decades and even centuries down the line, halfway across the world from each other, the exegetical analysis of it all even more fascinating. That knowledge - and he understands the reason Bookmen are a veiled society - can be power and could be manipulated and misappropriated to bring about destruction and doom. Even the name changes are important and in a way like all the lives before him, ink on paper, and all his lives before him faded from memory, the only legacy is the printed word on paper.

_“and I am not who I was,_  
_though some principle of being_  
_abides, from which I struggle_  
_not to stray.”_

He understands all this and yet, and yet … Here outside of Bookman and himself at the Black Order, he is Lavi, he is an exorcist, at the ready with a quip or light banter and never overly serious. He fights alongside with the best of them, yet he daren’t be the best that he can, because that would mean letting his innocence, deepen its claim on him. Exerting more of ‘God’s authority’ over him, sealing more than ever his choosing of a side. These are temporary comrades. This is a temporary home, inasmuch, as his never having one in the first place. The uniform he wears, a temporary contract. Mercenary! Is a voice from inside him somewhere that is loud in his mind, and it is not Bookman’s, nor Lavi's.

_“When I look behind,_  
_as I am compelled to look_  
_before I can gather strength_  
_to proceed on my journey,_  
_I see the milestones dwindling_  
_toward the horizon”_

Casting his mind far away, to those early days. As a child growing up with only one true adult influence, and the effect of witnessing destruction and death in conflicts across a world’s stage, he felt he’d developed enough strength of character. Unfortunately, since coming to the Order, one of the things he’s discovered in himself - and the truth hurts - is that he was ever naive enough to be disdainful of the human race. As blind as he’d made himself out to be in one eye. 

_“and the slow fires trailing_  
_from the abandoned camp-sites,_  
_over which scavenger angels_  
_wheel on heavy wings._

Tendrils of smoke hang in the air, frozen momentarily, then wisped and dissipated. From wayside camps made alongside wagons of supply trains and military from one army to another, to those they’ve made as exorcists and the hellish smoke and ash left by Akuma smashed, crashed or burnt into. Embodiment of tragedy, memories past and longing. Smashing and burning because more and more this is what he does now. However he keeps up with his logs and records because in spite of the face the world sees he actually possesses a self-discipline that is second to none. He has to be because he will eventually be the Bookman. 

_“Oh, I have made myself a tribe_  
_out of my true affections,_  
_and my tribe is scattered!”_

No attachments, no getting close, no falling in love - just shallow smiles and acquaintances that will not feel the pain nor the loss when it’s time to part ways. Just like the wind, scattering - Johnny, Lenalee, Komui, Kanda, Miranda and the others - leaves every which way. Will it not hurt him too, if they _really didn’t_ think of him? He feels no! He can not, But yes! He does - that they will hurt as much as he. 

_“How shall the heart be reconciled  
to its feast of losses?”_

Of course if he were Bookman tried and true he would not have to at all, let alone think twice about such things because… of course if he were a Bookman tried and true and he would not have a heart with a feast of losses to choke upon. No need for reconciliation. However the day of reckoning beckons and Junior-becoming-more-Lavi or is it the other way round? And the real him is uncertain, and the uncertainty is a surety as clear as any of his memories.

_“In a rising wind_  
_the manic dust of my friends,_  
_those who fell along the way,_  
_bitterly stings my face._

… and yet, and yet the memories of those who fell since he’d been with the Order. Doug, Daisya (though he is more to Yuu, the second-hand pain still exists for him and it is real); Suman Dark - because what happened to him was all levels of wrongness, when they first lose Allen, a whole ship full o’ crew - giving their lives for a cause and he feels shallow because he isn’t sure that he can. As well as Chomesuke - that she was Akuma is irrelevant, their comrades that fell when Lulubell came with her invading force … and the one that hurts the most - again even though it is second-hand, perhaps because it is not-his-not-real it is more-real a saudade he can never truly touch. Is Yuu's deep yearning, it is like he fell and only exist because the yearning does. It stings and hurts and shouldn’t and he doesn’t know what to do about it and that, that stings the most, because he feels keenly when he is not allowed to. 

_Yet I turn, I turn,_  
_exulting somewhat,_  
_with my will intact to go_  
_wherever I need to go,_

These days, when he meditates and repeats the Bookman code … there seems to be a voice that is not Bookman’s though the solemnity is the same, maybe an evolution of the Bookman-in-bloom, a new facet of Bookman-hood being cut, emerging. 

“What are Akuma?” _Akuma are malevolent weapons created by the Earl of Millennium._

“What are Exorcists?” _Those who wield Innocence to defeat Akuma and thwart the Earl’s planned Destruction of the World_

“I will ask - Who are you?” _I am the Bookman’s successor. I take on a new name I go somewhere new and discard it each time I leave._ … _and I am also an Exorcist and defeating Akuma is also what I do._ The self-discipline is still there, though it is renewed with an additional fervour perhaps. 

_“and every stone on the road_  
_precious to me._  
_In my darkest night,_  
_when the moon was covered_  
_and I roamed through wreckage,_

Some days are there when it feels like he is walking barefoot on broken glass, making his way through a mire of coffins much like those he waded through in Road’s dreamscape. The dark obfuscating truth from his eye and his heart, and the self assailed by unsteady resolve. Each shard is a reminder, a lesson and a new piece of him. 

_“a nimbus-clouded voice_  
_directed me:_  
_“Live in the layers,_  
_not on the litter.”_

… and it isn’t like all those that came before Lavi were different, none of them were desirous of wanting to be Bookman more than he … and it isn’t like all those that came before Lavi questioned the Bookman code less than he … because they were all him, just the different layers of Bookman Junior, because at the end of it all, even Road ceded defeat, and acknowledged him Bookman Junior. Layers of him. 

_“Though I lack the art_  
_to decipher it,_  
_no doubt the next chapter_  
_in my book of transformations_  
_is already written.”_

His time at the Order is unfinished, his training is unfinished, the war remains unfinished, who he is yet to be remains to be seen. The roads may be mapped out but he still has to chart his course, and this he will do himself.

_“I am not done with my changes._

He might have been chosen to be the next Bookman, he might have even at some point chose to really _be_ the next Bookman, but the questions will never stop and the answers might change and he is willing to bet that he’s not done with finding all the layers within him … not just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I've done the original work justice, I hope I've done Lavi-Bookman Junior justice, and I sincerely hope that someone somewhere likes/loves this (because I really did love writing this and wish so much that I was a better writer.)
> 
> ... and I won't forget ... if it was your birthday on the 5th Aug, I'm sorry I'm a day late, but you're wished a very Happy Birthday.
> 
> last but not least - thank you everyone who reads, because you are loved - Zan
> 
> "The Layers"
> 
> I have walked through many lives,  
> some of them my own,  
> and I am not who I was,  
> though some principle of being  
> abides, from which I struggle  
> not to stray.  
> When I look behind,  
> as I am compelled to look  
> before I can gather strength  
> to proceed on my journey,  
> I see the milestones dwindling  
> toward the horizon  
> and the slow fires trailing  
> from the abandoned camp-sites,  
> over which scavenger angels  
> wheel on heavy wings.  
> Oh, I have made myself a tribe  
> out of my true affections,  
> and my tribe is scattered!  
> How shall the heart be reconciled  
> to its feast of losses?  
> In a rising wind  
> the manic dust of my friends,  
> those who fell along the way,  
> bitterly stings my face.  
> Yet I turn, I turn,  
> exulting somewhat,  
> with my will intact to go  
> wherever I need to go,  
> and every stone on the road  
> precious to me.  
> In my darkest night,  
> when the moon was covered  
> and I roamed through wreckage,  
> a nimbus-clouded voice  
> directed me:  
> “Live in the layers,  
> not on the litter.”  
> Though I lack the art  
> to decipher it,  
> no doubt the next chapter  
> in my book of transformations  
> is already written.  
> I am not done with my changes.
> 
> Stanley Kunitz, 1905 - 2006


End file.
